


young hearts spark fire

by redlightwarning



Series: coda [3]
Category: Scorpion (TV 2014)
Genre: 1x19: Young Hearts Spark Fire, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-17
Updated: 2015-06-17
Packaged: 2018-04-04 20:36:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4152060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redlightwarning/pseuds/redlightwarning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You have carbon monoxide poisoning.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When they’re back on solid ground and not about to be burnt alive, and Caitlin’s got a ring on her finger and tears in her eyes, Toby kisses her. It’s a measured kiss, not at all what she expected of a heat of the moment, I’m-so-glad-we’re-both-still-alive reaction, (and she  _hates_ that she has _expectations_ of these sort of things), and she knows he’s waiting for her to pull away, and maybe punch him too.

She doesn’t. Pull away, that is. Not at first anyway.

She thinks she might have squeaked a little in surprise, if the way he huffs a laugh against her mouth is anything to go by, and then she just sort of gets... swept away into it. He kisses like he does everything else, carefully, and with a calculated precision that tears through her every protest, and she feels helpless against him, so she doesn’t fight it. He’s leaning over her, curled around her body like a comma, and she melts into the space that stretches between them, and presses herself against him. He hums in his throat like he’s cataloguing her and she doesn’t know why but it makes her shiver once,  _twice_  when his hands come up to cup her neck, tilt her head back, and brush his thumbs, whisper soft, and warm against the hook of her jaw.

Then it’s teeth pressing against her bottom lip, the unbearable heat of him that short circuits her brain, the smell of smoke and ash that clings in her throat, and a wet gasp from her, and another, and another because  _she can’t fucking breathe_.

She wrenches away from him and starts to choke and her lungs burn with the air that rattles around her chest with every inhale. There’s a hand against her back, soothing against her jacket as she doubles over, and her eyes sting and she  _aches_  with it.

“Come on,” he says when her coughs subside, a hand wrapping around her waist and coaxing her upright again. She feels weak and a little fuzzy, her fingertips tingling, and she sags into his space. He presses something cool against her face and she bats him away as best she can when her eyes are shut and she’s still wheezing. “It’s an oxygen mask,” he tells her, though Lord knows where he got it from. “You have carbon monoxide poisoning.” He sounds worried and she flutters her eyes open to scowl at him.

“You don’t know that.”

“Shortness of breath, reflexive coughing, dizziness and tachycardia. All symptoms of carbon monoxide poisoning,” he says. “Now, are you going to take the oxygen mask or will I have to find a nice paramedic to sedate you?” He waits for a second and then turns to leave, probably to do just that, but she whips out a hand to stop him, and hopes he understands how  _annoying_  he is. “Good girl,” he teases. She doesn’t berate him, distracted as she is when he moves back into her space, slips the mask over her head, and presses a lingering kiss to her temple as he tangles their fingers together.

Then he turns back to watch the fanfare of hikers and paramedics and family like nothing happened. She does the same, and desperately tries not to blush when she notices Paige studiously refusing to look in their direction, but it’s easy to relax into the comfortable silence between them. It takes a few seconds longer for her to catch onto Toby’s slip-up, but when she does, she elbows him sharply in the ribs, pulls the oxygen mask aside to firmly tell him that he’s not allowed to kiss her so he can measure her pulse,  _Doc_.

His pained grimace gives way to an exaggerated look of innocence, complete with wide eyes and faux surprise before he smiles, a little too self-satisfied for her tastes.

“You’re impressed through, right?”

She smirks a little, and gives a dismissive shrug. She’s feeling  _charitable_.

(It was a little impressive.)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So that was fun.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written because of the wardrobe change/clean up between being rescued and the rooftop scene. And the garage has a Decontamination Room, because I wanted this to work and also that makes sense. Safety first, kids. Features semi-nudity, kissing, and half a sex mention.
> 
> For [Cassidy](www.happyfuckingquinn.tumblr.com) on her birthday.

They’re given the all-clear by the paramedics, not that Toby needs someone else to tell him that he’s fine, and that’s that. Job done. They gather their gear and pile into the van with very little fussing or squabbling and the driver’s seat is left empty (for Cabe, of course. Everybody else is too drained to even consider getting them all back to the garage in one piece).

When they finally,  _finally_ reach their shared little space in the world, Cabe waves them off from debriefing, says they’ve done more than enough for one day, and tells them to  _go home, get some sleep, you deserve it._  He claps Sylvester on the shoulder, brushes a hand against Happy’s back, asks Paige if she needs a lift to the babysitter’s and spends a few moments in quiet discussion with Walter as she gathers her things and rinses soot off her face at the kitchen sink. When they’re gone, and Sylvester’s off to  _shower, change, visit Megan_ , and Walter’s disappeared off with his mice and his equations, there’s nothing but a careful sort of silence and the way Happy looks at him like she’s trying to figure something out.

“So that was fun,” Toby jokes because he doesn’t do well with awkward silences or loaded silences and he’s not quite sure which kind they’re currently trapped in. Happy ignores him, turns her back on him and meanders through to the kitchen, shedding her jacket and her boots as she goes. He watches her, because he can’t not, always a little entranced by the line of her spine and the subtle sway of her hips. “Where are you going?” he calls after her. He feels needy and anxious and he wants to wrap her up in his arms and never ever let go.

“To shower.” It’s…  _Yeah_ , maybe the greatest thing she’s ever said and the idea is like music to his ears. He loses himself for a moment as he imagines cool water and being clean and relaxed, loses himself again when he pictures her naked and wet and vulnerable because she’s  _Happy_ , and he is equal parts aroused and fond. “Are you coming?”

He stares at her and she glances at him over her shoulder, and raises an eyebrow.  _Absolutely_ , he thinks, says, “Yes,” because he has chill. Maybe. (He really doesn’t and it’s proven when he fumbles out of his jacket and almost brains himself trying to toe off his shoes and walk at the same time. He survives, and hopes she didn’t see.)

She’s pulling her socks off when he reaches the bathroom, or the _‘Decontamination Room’_  as Walter insists on calling it, but it’s little more than a cupboard with a shower and a locking door. Toby leans against the doorframe and the room is instantly shrouded in darkness, save for the thin light that manages to filter through the row of windows against the low ceiling, whose thickened glass is yellow with age. He reaches for the light switch, but she’s speaking then, and telling him to  _leave it off_  and he barely has time to swallow before she’s pulling her tank top up and over her head and slipping her jeans down her legs, until she’s stood in just her underwear and Toby’s heart is pounding in his chest. She’s all dark skin, shapely legs and a skin stretched tight over her hips, and the weak sunlight at her back makes her look golden. It’s a lot to deal with, and he has to look away when she turns the shower on, because the expanse of her back is smooth and fragile and he aches to run his fingers across her shoulder blades. 

Slowly, carefully, he steps into the room, pushes the door shut behind him, and quietly starts to strip out of his own clothes, ravaged by smoke and ash, and he is drawn once again into his memories of the day, fearful and exhausted and hopeless in turn.

There’s the squeaking and clanking of pipes before the sound of water hitting tiles fills the room and everything else falls away as he steps up behind Happy under the spray and presses into her space, curling an arm around her waist as she tenses and relaxes into him. Toby shuts his eyes against the cool water and buries his face into the skin of her neck, grazes his teeth against her tendons before soothing it away with his tongue until the line of her shoulders smooth out into something a little less uncomfortable. He wants to say something, but he doesn’t know what to say at all after the whole  _meaningful last words thing_ , doesn’t know how she’s reacting to his desperation to lay bare his very bones in the face of death, so when he opens his mouth, what comes out is a whispered  _hey_ , strained and cautious and slow.

There’s a beat before she replies. “Later?” she asks, sounding a little desperate. He’s never been very good at saying no to her, so he hums against her shoulder and disentangles himself from her and turns his back on the spray, tugs her into the space between his legs as he reaches behind himself for the row of bottles and lotions, grabs one at random and hopes it’s some kind of body wash.

She watches him as he pours some on to his hands and rubs them together before he carefully starts smoothing the foam across her jaw, down the line of her throat and sweeps it down her arms. Her eyes are dark and Toby feels himself blushing under the weight of her gaze as he lifts her arm, brushes his hands across her wrists and into the spaces between her fingers and he is all caught up in the heat of her body, where the water is lukewarm against his shoulders. He massages away the soot and the smoke and distracts himself with the rhythms of her whenever he opens his mouth to speak, and she just stares at him, doesn’t flinch when he brushes the soap against the valley of her breasts or when he lingers against the bumps of her ribs to feel the steady beating of her heart, the stuttered intake of each breath as he dips a thumb beneath the band of her bra, the material soaked through and cold to the touch. She stays still and steady as he traces a hand up her spine, pulls her closer and reminds himself that she’s here, she’s  _alive_ and  _safe_ and his heart does a triple leap and catches in his throat because he’s so fucking  _relieved_.

He lets the water wash his hands clean, the pads of his fingers already beginning to wrinkle, and grabs another bottle, fruity and sweet smelling when he clicks it open, and pours it out, drops the bottle and starts threading his sticky hands through her hair. He starts at her temples, presses their foreheads together as washes away the sweat, drags his hands further back to draw patterns against her scalp as he works before he sets to pulling apart her tangled ends. It’s repetitive work, and it’s endlessly calming, and he settles a little when she blinks up at him.

“No more helicopter stunts.” Her voice is rough with disuse and when he blinks at her, her skin is dimpling in the chill of the room.

“Okay,” he agrees, but he doesn’t promise. It’s not a promise he can make anyhow, and she seems to know it too, rises on her tiptoes to card her hands through his hair and pull him into a warm kiss.  _Idiot_ , she murmurs against his mouth, and he smiles into it because it sounds fond, and a lot like  _thank you_. “Only for you, sweetheart,” and he pulls her in closer with his hands on the back of her thighs, so though she squirms against him, there’s no room between them to make him pay for the endearment, and it’s the easiest thing ever to pull her into another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [me.](www.melancholylouis.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> [hello.](www.melancholylouis.tumblr.com)


End file.
